“I’m getting better at hiding it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
I stand fully, bracing myself against the wall for a second before letting go. My head swims briefly, then clears. “Why are you here, Rogue?”
“I’m here to escort you to the work hub,” he says.
“I don’t need an escort.”
“Don’t be stupid. You do,” he replies. “Also, Sting’s orders.”
My stomach drops at the mention of Sting’s name. I can still feel the ghost of his mouth on mine, the way his hand tangled in my hair, the heat that exploded throughme. It revisits, and I squirm uncomfortably inside my blue jeans, hoping Rogue doesn’t notice.
“Well. Sting doesn’t own me,” I say like a brat.
Rogue’s grin widens. “He thinks he does. So does Armen.” He tilts his head slightly. “And honestly? So do I.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “Is that how things work here?”
“Here in the Rot?” Rogue sneers, pushing off the doorframe and stepping into the room. “That’s exactly how this works. What did you think?”
He’s closer now. Not crowding me but near enough that I can see the details of his mask, the thin cracks in the paint, the way the white bone curves. Near enough that I catch the faint smell of soap and something metallic, like he’s been working with his hands.
I swallow hard. “What if I refuse?”
He rolls his eyes and laughs. “Then you stay locked in this room,” he replies. “And you don’t eat. And you don’t get to prove you’re more than just a Runt with a chip on her shoulder.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Frequently,” he agrees, his tone light. “But I’m an asshole who’s offering you breakfast and a chance to build a new life.”
I stare at him for a long moment, weighing my options. There aren’t many. Actually, there aren’tany.
“Fine,” I say, as if I have a choice.
Rogue steps aside, gesturing toward the door. “After you.”
I move toward the corridor, but he stops me with ahand on my arm. Not rough. Just... firm. His fingers wrap around my forearm, warm through the thin fabric of my sleeve.
“Vi,” he says.
I look up at him.
His expression shifts, less amused, more serious. The sharpness in his eyes softens a fraction. “You did well yesterday.”
The compliment catches me off guard. “What?”
“You held yourself well. Made good choices.”
I scoff. “Sting might think otherwise.”
“Yeah. But I’m not Sting. Regardless, be careful how you conduct yourself. At all times.”
“Why?”
“Or you’ll learn the hard way that the Rot doesn’t give second chances. It’s a strange place, Vi. Learn it before you even think about breaking its rules.”
He releases my arm and steps back, waiting.
